


Where Fallen Stars Land

by thorbiased



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-adjacent, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Soulmate AU, alcoholism tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:55:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22513600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thorbiased/pseuds/thorbiased
Summary: Sometimes, when things got dark and loneliness crept in where the alcohol couldn’t reach, Valkyrie studied the mark on her wrist. Brilliant white, small enough to fit just in the middle of her bones. The lightning bolt taunted her. Aren’t you so alone? Aren’t you so lonely? She brushed her fingers over the symbol, longing aching in her bones. On nights like that, she took an extra swig before heading to bed.- Thor/Valkyrie Soulmate AU
Relationships: Thor & Bruce Banner, Thor & Heimdall, Thor & Loki, Valkyrie | Brunnhilde & Bruce Banner, Valkyrie | Brunnhilde & Loki, Valkyrie/Thor
Comments: 14
Kudos: 63





	Where Fallen Stars Land

**Author's Note:**

> for my friends <3 you know who you are

Valkyrie paid no mind to her mark. Normally the colored glass of alcohol-filled bottles obscured the little bolt of lightning on her wrist enough that she didn’t have to see it. The soulmate of her own choosing was dead, anyway. She didn’t care who the universe thought she should love. Ignoring her fate felt like a middle finger to the powers that be. A swift kick to the balls of the cosmic beings that decided people needed soulmates in the first place. It was satisfying, if a bit cynical. She felt entitled to that cynicism, anyway. Everyone she loved was dead. The woman responsible was still alive. The man responsible faced no consequences whatsoever. And she was alone. 

Sometimes, when things got dark and loneliness crept in where the alcohol couldn’t reach, Valkyrie studied the mark on her wrist. Brilliant white, small enough to fit just in the middle of her bones. The lightning bolt taunted her. _Aren’t you so alone? Aren’t you so lonely?_ She brushed her fingers over the symbol, longing aching in her bones. On nights like that, she took an extra swig before heading to bed. 

It was like that for years, decades, millenia. She carved out a name for herself, a reputation. Her lightning bolt grew to mean nothing, just a silly mark of a silly tradition. It was all but forgotten. 

Until _he_ showed up, tangled in trapper’s webs, loud and angry. He was a reminder, a haunting. Wrapped up in his crimson cape, he was the embodiment of all she’d left behind. She wanted nothing to do with him. Quickly, she tossed him aside. Let the spoiled little prince fend for himself. 

He was pissed, of course. At her, at the whole system. But she got her money. It didn’t matter how many nasty words or thoughts or looks he cast her way. Again, she felt like she was getting revenge. Odin’s son, he’d claimed to be. The blasted old king would do well with a bit of his own loss. She guessed that was why she decided to watch him fight. (Not because there was grief behind the fire in his eyes; the same grief she still held in her own.) (Not because she was impressed with the way he broke his chains out of pure rage.) (Nope.) 

The bar was crowded before the fight, as it always was. That’s why she normally stocked up before, then drank alone in her own room. She was starting to think she should’ve done just that when he called out. With a huff, she gave him a sidelong glance. She didn’t know why she did it. She should have just sat there on that stool and ignored him. 

But his eyes lit up at the sight of her Valkyrie tattoo. 

So she walked over, listened to him ramble on about women and and his childhood for some reason and Valkyries and how he needed her help to get out and she _was_ a Valkyrie, right? Ignoring the way his dumb rambling made warmth spread through her chest, she shot him down. She watched him deflate, then fill with anger. He hurled words like _coward_ and _traitor_ like daggers at her head. She didn’t flinch, despite the hurt in her belly. She yelled right back. He had no right to those words, no right to know a thing about her or her past. She felt smug when she pressed the button on her remote and blue toxins spread their way through his body. She felt smug when they dragged him away. 

She didn’t regret it until she turned away from him. 

Spite drove her to watch the fight and pay attention. She wanted to see the arrogant prince get what he deserved. A smile crossed her lips at the thought of Hulk smashing him like he so loved to do. She let her ship hover over the arena, then took a seat on the hatch. Her feet dangled over the edge, reckless. 

The fight began with Thor as the enemy. They’d shaved his head, she noticed. The blush on her cheeks was from the booze, right? She took a swig and shook her head. Not the time. She watched him close, though. He slammed his helmet on his head, crouched down, adjusted his grip on his twin blades. The thought occurred to her that he was likely a skilled fighter. Maybe this wouldn’t be a knockout. Perhaps she’d get a spectacle out of it. 

What she could’ve never expected was the dopey grin that spread across his face when Hulk busted out of his side of the arena, slamming his sword and shield together to rile up the crowd. Thor was cheering just as loud at the spectators were. And was he...talking to someone? Shouting and laughing like he wasn’t in the middle of a gladiator’s arena. He said he knew Hulk, called him _Banner_ , as if that made any sense. Perhaps he was insane. Maybe whatever she used to knock people out was a bit more toxic than she thought. Whatever. A drugged fight was still a fight. She just wished he’d _fight._

But, the more he stood there and blabbed on about something no one understood, the more her frustration shifted to admiration. He wouldn’t fight his friend. Even when Hulk attacked him, he held back. He only fought when he was in true danger. 

It was...eerily similar to the way she’d been taught to fight. Honorably. Respectfully. 

It actually made tears prick at her eyes. Curse him. 

Maybe that’s why she started to cheer for him. Of course she didn’t want Hulk hurt or dead. But the Grandmaster loved the green oaf; he wouldn’t be killed on his watch. So Valkyrie let herself cheer for Thor, internally, silently. It’s why when Hulk was on top of him, pounding his fists in Thor’s face, she felt fear. Dread. She cringed with every impact. 

When she was sure Thor couldn’t take any more, and she had resigned herself to the fact that he was just like every other “contender” she brought in, the air shifted. Something buzzed on her skin. The hair on the back of her neck stood up straight. 

Blue, blinding lightning wrapped itself around Thor’s arms, torso, legs. It burned behind his eyes. She felt like throwing up. Her mark felt warm on her skin, comfortingly warm. She _really_ felt like throwing up. 

Thor threw one solid punch and set Hulk flying backwards in the arena. His lightning nearly reached the same height as her ship. Curiosity kept her glued to her seat, watching the fight as Thor took the upper hand. Glowing with power, wrapped in thin strands of lightning, he approached Hulk. 

And then he collapsed. 

That’s when Valkyrie rolled her eyes, took a swig of her beer, and headed back inside her ship. She was right. The Grandmaster wasn’t going to let him win. Even if he _had_ deserved it. 

If she was lucky, Hulk would kill Thor. Then she could just forget she ever came in contact with him. She could forget that _damn it_ , he was her soulmate. She could forget those angry, hurting eyes. Forget him. 

She felt the ground rumble, and a shadow was cast over her ship. She glanced over her shoulder to see Hulk in the air, about to crash back down right on top of Thor. A frown formed on her lips before she could stop it. Oh well, at least no one could see her up there. 

That night she had a dream. It was loose, wispy. Nothing she could get a real grasp on. The shadow of laughter, a glimpse of bright blue eyes, the ghost of a lingering kiss, a flash of golden hair. She woke up in a sweat, her heart beating too fast. She drank until the feeling went away. 

The next day, she went to train with Hulk like she always did. She’d almost forgotten the warm lightning bolt on her wrist. Almost forgotten Thor. 

And then the little _bastard_ was standing in Hulk’s room. Fumbling and falling over himself to talk to her. It pissed her off, frankly. She was rough housing with her friend. She did not want to deal with her soulmate. Who she thought was dead. Who she was _counting on_ being dead. 

Thor was not dead. He was asking her—no begging. He was begging her to help him. And that pissed her off too. He wanted her to come back to Asgard? To fight for the same country who’d robbed her of everything she loved? Her hands curled into fists at her sides. She could’ve stabbed his desperate, pretty face. Instead of doing that, she turned on her toes and stomped away. 

Only for Thor to speak again, and bring her world to a crashing halt. Odin was dead. Hela was back. She told him the truth, that there was no saving Asgard if that witch was alive. But he was stubborn. And he grabbed her as she was trying to leave, brushing his hand across her wrist. Her mark practically _burned_. She yanked her hand away and raised a dagger to his throat, brought up another when he moved that one. 

He then made a speech, and threw himself out of a window. Valkyrie would’ve denied it, but her heart plummeted in her chest as she watched him fall. And the relief she felt when he landed safely was palpable. 

This, of course, just pissed her off. 

At least he was gone. Valkyrie made her way back to her apartment. That was comforting. Her warm, booze-filled apartment. Not that she needed comfort. Nope. She wasn’t upset or even slightly bothered. She couldn’t care less. 

But when the Grandmaster asked her and Loki to track Thor down for him, she couldn’t help but feel...happy? Relieved? Something positive. She wasn’t sure which emotion it happened to be. But it was warm, and it felt nice. 

Loki must have sensed this somehow because he thought it would be great fun to provoke her. She underestimated him. She didn’t expect his prowess of magic. She didn’t expect to be suddenly thrust back into the past she’d desperately wanted to escape. Her memories played out in slow motion in front of her, trapping her in her terror. When she finally broke free, panting and shaking, she was ready to kill him. At least he had the decency to look sorry before she knocked him out cold. 

Valkyrie then had the pleasure of dragging his limp body all the way back to her apartment, purposely smacking him into things along the way. Leaving him chained to her wall, she made her way back out into the twin square. 

The place had been transformed into a wild party, filled with shouting and songs and explosions of colored clay. The crowd was thick, but she made her way through it easily enough. She found Thor about to pick a fight, but one click of her taser and his almost-opponent fell to the ground. 

One awkward, goofy conversation later, she lead him and Bruce (who seemed _awfully_ familiar) into her apartment. Thor tossed a small lamp at Loki’s head, which was very satisfying to see. He then ooh-ed and ahh-ed at her dragonfang. This sight, despite the blush on her cheeks and the smile that pulled at her lips, did not warm her heart or make her fond of Thor’s enthusiastic love of her culture. Nope. 

They made a plan. Thor, Bruce, Loki, and her. A crazy, stupid, foolish plan that might just be crazy enough to work. She was feeling confident in it, actually, until they broke through the other side of that wormhole—and she was back.

Asgard’s glittering city, up in flames. It was fitting, really. That’s how she felt, that’s how she’d seen Asgard for years. The flames were burning and melting the gilded paint off Asgard’s true nature—a dark, violent nation that earned its prestige off the deaths of millions. 

Thor retrieved a gun for the ship, but he grabbed (of _course_ he did) something more. He passed over a bundle of blue and grey fabric, brushing off her questioning glance with some nonchalant excuse and a half smile. He did it so casually, returning that uniform to her, like he wasn’t aware of just how much weight that fabric and his actions held. Maybe he wasn’t. But there was something about the way he tilted his head that made her think that he _knew_. Smug, smug little bugger. 

And then he left to fight the goddess of death, _alone_. The same woman that single-handedly took down all but one of the Valkyrior was going to fight Thor without mercy. Her stomach turned. She asked him not to die. It was all she could do. 

Though she pushed away thoughts of him dying, she still changed into her uniform with renewed purpose. This fight could be the death of them. She’d go into what could be her last stand as _herself._ Not Scrapper-142, but Brunnhilde the Valkyrie. 

The fight was quick, swift. Bruce was Hulk, apparently. Not the weirdest thing she’d ever seen, but it was up there. Fighting zombies was also up there. It was teaching her things, though. Undead soldiers weren’t especially hard to kill, but they crumbled on impact, leaving her covered in mush and ash.

Thor roared out of the palace in a ball of lightning and power. She chuckled as he exploded onto the bifrost, taking out more soldiers with one motion of his arms than any of them would’ve been able to by themselves. Hope started to stir within her. They might actually do this. Asgard could be saved. 

But no. Hela still lived.

It was Thor’s idea to do it. Destroy the planet to save the people. As much as it pained him, pained her, the idea held merit. It felt like she’d just gotten Asgard back, but now it was being destroyed before her very eyes. The flames turned the ever-blue skies a violent, burning orange. 

Hulk returned them to the ship, where they watched as Asgard was reduced to dust. She twisted her face into a painfully stoic expression. She would mourn away from here, alone. Much differently from Thor, who wore his emotions on his sleeve. Even the gaping hole in his face couldn’t distract from the pure anguish in his expression, and even encouraging words from a friend didn’t erase the guilt that rested on his shoulders. That was a guilt Valkyrie knew well. Maybe one day they could share a drink and talk about it. 

The crowd dispersed shortly after that, disappearing into cabins and corridors and whatever privacy they could find. Thor didn’t leave until every one of them were settled, much to the gatekeeper’s chagrin. Valkyrie stayed with them until Heimdall finally dragged Thor away to the captain-turned-king’s suite to patch up his wounds. 

Valkyrie sought out the bar. She drank a bottle (or three) of the first thing she found, so she wouldn’t have to think about anything. It was pleasant, actually, to stare at the stars and think only on how they shone. 

They held a coronation later, once Thor wasn’t so disgusting to look at and everyone had rested. Valkyrie didn’t push down the swells of pride she felt to see him sit before his kingdom, humble but so deserving of the title. 

It was much later—it took her weeks to build up the courage—when she told him. 

They were still on the ship, traveling slowly towards Midgard. The glittering lights of the stars twinkled around them. Silently, she’d slipped off her wrist band, revealing the bright lightning bolt that rested there. Biting her lip, she waited for his response. He did not looked shocked or surprised. He didn’t speak either. In the calm, empty quiet of the night, he tugged the shirt off his back. There on his chest, just above his heart, in brilliant white ink, was her Valkyrie symbol. 

She brushed her fingers over the runes, tears in her eyes. All of her emotions poured out of her. She told him of her lover, of how she never thought she’d find her soulmate, let alone fall for them. Expecting anger, she dropped her head. She was too broken, too damaged. Would he care to deal with all her baggage? Would he care to wait for her until she was ready? 

Thor, ever gentle, only pressed his lips to the crown of her head. A silent promise of all she’d asked, reassurance that he would do or not do whatever she needed, a slow start but a start all the same. 

Almost subconsciously, her arms found him. Nothing romantic about it, not yet. Just two halves of a whole, brought together by tragedy. Two fallen stars, landing side by side. 

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t forget to leave comments and kudos <3


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